


ERIKA: halfway house

by SpontaneouslyAWOL



Series: A Compilation of Short Stories [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 15:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpontaneouslyAWOL/pseuds/SpontaneouslyAWOL
Summary: Inspired by prompt: "The wind blew a stranger into my yard. He looked tired, so I let him in."





	ERIKA: halfway house

**Author's Note:**

> prompt inspiration:  
> http://deepwaterwritingprompts.tumblr.com/post/166577735232/deep-water-prompt-530  
> "The wind blew a stranger into my yard. He looked tired, so I let him in."

He huddled under a spare blanket while I made tea, shoulders hunched and legs folded, trying to make himself as small as possible. He said nothing, staring blankly at the wall with glassy eyes. Beneath them, exhaustion was smudged in bruised purple, shadowing his face. His dark curly hair was still ruffled from his trip, pale feathers poking out.

He only stirred when I offered him the mug, shifting as if woken from sleep. Creamy feathers fluffed, then smoothed out. He accepted with trembling hands, blinking at the steaming liquid in bewildered fascination.

"It's chamomile," I said.

He nodded and held it closer.

I left him to it, retreating to the guest bedroom. I cracked the windows open and drew the curtains halfway, letting the fading afternoon sunlight warm the air in gentle tones of burnished gold. It was small and simple, with only a soft bed, a lamp, and an empty chest of drawers, but they liked it that way. One girl told me it reminded them of home.

This was not the first time I had offered refuge. If I had my way, it would not be the last. It was dangerous, I knew, especially if I was found out, but that didn't matter. They needed help, help that far too few people could offer, and I would do all I could to provide it.

It was the least we could do, after our part in the Sundering.

The tea was still there when I removed, the stranger unmoving. I took the mug from unresisting fingers and set it on the coffee table. "There's a room for you when you're ready," I told him, waiting patiently.

It took a few minutes for him to move, slowly shuffling off the couch to stand in front of me. He was smaller than most, the top of his forehead barely reaching my nose. His eyes were brown, long lashes brushing freckled cheeks when he blinked. He followed me obediently, listening with a tilted head as I explained the bathroom and where I slept.

"If you need anything, just ask me," I finished, not expecting him to answer. Few did. It took a couple of days for them to feel comfortable enough to question, to want.

I was surprised, then, when he opened his mouth, hesitated, and said quietly, "I do not... _like..._ to be alone."

It wasn't quite a question, but it was more than I had expected. Most didn't even speak until the second or third day. His voice was as soft as the rest of him, carefully shaping each word with solemn gravity. It carried familiar undertones, hints of some echoing choir in the gaps between words, like he was speaking from more than one mouth. A wordless hum shivered through my bones and brushed against my heart.

It was a good sign, so I smiled, conscious not to show any teeth. "I have a spare mattress. We can share a room. I can bring it in here later, or you can stay with me. The couches are also good for sleeping; you can rest there while I confirm some things with a friend. You aren't confined to any room," I added. "You're free to move about as you please. I just ask you to check with me before opening any locked doors."

He thought this over. "I...  _want_. To... share?"

"Of course," I encouraged. "Do you know where?"

"...Your room?"

"I'll set it up now."

He trailed behind me like a duckling, though perhaps 'lost child' would be more accurate. He certainly had that air of abandonment. It was why he arrived, after all. It was why they all arrived. Lost. Abandoned. Cast out.

He settled on the couch when I was done, where he had a good view of the back door and my desk. He was content to remain wrapped in the blanket, reluctant to expose himself. It was my fluffiest one, dark blue with white fleece, and I didn't begrudge him the experience. It was sinfully soft and warm.

While Snapchat had its ups and downs, one bonus for situations like this was its lack of message history. It was far less conspicuous than constantly deleting message threads, especially considering how often our little gang of troublemakers spoke. I kept my message vague, a simple picture of the porcelain birds crowding my desk captioned,  _why do i keep buying these smh_. Posting it to the group chat, I sipped the leftover tea and waited.

Merrick replied first.  _#treatyoself_ popped up, followed by  _what did you get this time?_

_another dove orz_

_LENA NO_ , Bellamy cut in.  _YOU HAVE LITERAL DOZENS_.

_but it was so tiny and cute! its so smol i love it_

_Do you even have space?_

Claire interrupted with a cheerful  _ignore him, he's just jealous_.

_i know ;p ill show you guys next time we get together, my camera doesnt do it justice_

We set a date, three days from now, before the chat devolved into squabbling over ornaments. Bellamy was convinced they were only good for collecting dust, while Merrick waxed poetic about sentiment and emotional attachments. Claire seemed content with poking holes in both their arguments. I left them to it, turning to the stranger.

He was asleep, curled into a fluffy green ball. All I could see were curls and stray feathers.

I paused for a second, tempted, but common sense won out. Pictures were dangerous, no matter how cute.

I made sure to leave the phone behind when I stood to make dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> plot?? don't know her


End file.
